


smudged moons

by ont



Series: mockingbird [9]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Angst, Anxiety, Arguing, Canon Compliant, Exes, Hurt feelings, Jealousy, M/M, Male Pregnancy, New Parents, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Therapy, parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ont/pseuds/ont
Summary: In 2016, Louis, Liam and Zayn attend court-mandated group counseling after a custody scuffle. In 2039, Harry and Zayn go to therapy after the birth of their son.





	smudged moons

LONDON, MARCH 6, 2016

“So,” Dr Sophie says. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Louis, fuzzyheaded and exhausted, stares at her acrylic nails. They’re painted a beige pink, and one of them is far shorter than the others, but the same color and neat oval shape. He wonders how that happened. Did it fall off, exposing her real nail? Did she then file it down and paint it to look like the rest, as a stopgap?

“How d’you mean, like,” Zayn says. His voice doesn’t rise up in a question at the end. He’s seated sort of away from them in an armchair while Liam and Louis sit on the couch, keeping three or so inches between them.

“Well,” she says, “what do you all want to talk about?”

Louis snorts. “Nothin’,” he says, before he can stop himself. “None of us want to be here.”

“I don’t mind being here,” Liam says quietly. “It feels like we ought to be.”

Zayn’s jaw tightens, like it does every time Liam talks.

“So,” Sophie says again, more chirpy this time. It seems to be a verbal tic of hers.

Louis doesn’t want to dislike her; he doesn’t ever _want_ to dislike anybody. But Mia colicked all last night so he got an hour and a half of sleep, there’s a headache like a pickaxe in his left temple, and the last thing he wants to do is sit around in a cramped room with embroideries of thistles on the walls and talk about how much his baby daddy hates him and his boyfriend.

“I _am_ aware that none of you want to be here,” she says, and smiles. “It’s family court-mandated therapy. I essentially expect that none of my clients want to be here, when that’s the case.”

Liam laughs. He seems to be doing his best to be kind to her. Louis manages a weak snort.

“But what are the most pressing issues for you, right now? I know Zayn’s been taking Mia on weekends, how has that been working out?”

“Fine,” Zayn says, picking at a loose string on the upholstery of the chair.

“Do you feel comfortable in that role, as a single father? Do you feel supported?”

Zayn shrugs, continuing to pick.

“Zayn,” Sophie says, like a primary school teacher. “Could you look at me, please?”

Zayn looks up, his face blank. “Yeah. Wassup?”

“Do you feel supported?”

“I mean… I guess…”

Sophie nods and tucks a strand of honey-blonde hair behind her ear. Louis stares at her so hard he sees through her and starts thinking about things they need from the grocery store.

“Do you feel safe speaking your mind in here?”

Zayn’s eyes get round, like this is the absolute last thing he wants. “I’m alright,” he mutters.

“Liam,” Sophie says.

Liam nods at her too hard, like he’s trying to convince a teacher he wasn’t just sleeping in class.

“How are you feeling, in a parental role?”

Louis spots a flash of anger in Zayn’s eyes. He glances at Liam, who seems to be having some sort of diplomacy-related aneurysm.

“Good,” he finally says, slowly, drawing out the word like Zayn’s going to jump him as soon as he finishes saying it.

“You’re not feeling overwhelmed?”

“No,” Liam assures her. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t volunteer any more than this. Louis knows he normally would, if Zayn weren’t sitting feet away, picking at his fingernails. Liam loves talking about the baby.

He’s dreading what’s bound to come next, as Sophie goes down the row of them, and sure enough, she says: “Louis?”

Louis plays dumb. “Yeah?”

“How are you feeling?”

He could tell her about a million things; the mind-melting, paralyzing frustration, the explosive anger, the crying jags, how he doesn’t really leave the house lately, how Liam almost never says Zayn’s name anymore, how he gets breathlessly anxious when he’s away from the baby but is sometimes totally exhausted by her presence. How sometimes he just lies on the floor of the walk-in closet and stares at the baseboard.

“Tired,” Louis says.

Sophie searches his face. “Just tired?”

“Just tired.”

“This won’t really work if no one is willing to express their frustration, as awkward or painful as it may be,” she says to the room at large. “If you just want to grit your teeth through these three mandatory sessions, that’s your right. But it would be great if we could have a breakthrough that would help the three of you get along more harmoniously.”

“I’ve got a frustration,” Zayn says immediately. “I fuckin’ hate that Liam is even here for these. I hate that ‘e lives in the same house with my kid and sees her twice as much as I do. I hate all of that.”

“Thanks, Sophie,” Louis says, resting his forehead against his fist. His head is throbbing worse now.

“That’s fine,” she says. “That's absolutely fine. Zayn’s allowed to have difficult feelings.”

“What’s anyone going to do about it, though?” Zayn says, and laughs. “What’s -- y’know? What are you gonna do?”

“Maybe I ought to leave,” Liam suggests. “If he wants to vent.”

“Yeah, you ought to leave! But first you can fuckin’ take responsibility for the shit you’ve done!” Zayn exclaims. “Stop leaning on -- _oh, poor nice Liam, he means well_ \--”

“I’m not leaning on anything!” Liam exclaims, his ears reddening. “And I don’t want to yell! Quit yelling!”

“I’ll yell all I like! Square up like a fuckin’ man!”

“Nobody’s squarin’ up, Zayn, shut the fuck up,” Louis snaps, lifting his head.

“Sorry, I thought we were _airin’ our frustrations_ \--”

“All you _do_ is air your fucking frustrations!” Louis shouts, rounding on him. His pulse is jackhammering now, his temple throbbing, and he feels his verbal filter tear away as if yanked. “Who cares about _my_ fuckin’ frustrations? What did you care when I was begging you to come take your daughter off me hands like you promised you would --”

Zayn’s face darkens. “I _have_ been takin’ ‘er! Don’t bring up old shit!”

“Boys, boys, please,” Sophie begs.

“I’ll stop bringin’ up old shit when you stop!”

_“Boys --”_

“How’s it old shit? He lives in your _house!”_

“Yeah, he’s me fuckin’ boyfriend!” Louis hollers. “Sorry you can't handle that!”

Zayn scoffs; Liam shuts his eyes like a little kid who wants to disappear.

“I don’t care what ‘e is to you,” Zayn says nastily.

“Then why are you torturing me,” Liam whispers, his voice plaintive, and Louis has to look away. His throat burns with guilt for what he’s done to their friendship.

“Why couldn’t you stay away?” Zayn says, his own voice hoarse from overuse and ragged with hurt.

“What happened, happened!”

“And what, I’m just supposed to fuckin’ back down and go away?”

“No one wants you to go _away_ , Zayn!”

“That ain’t your fuckin’ daughter, Liam!”

“I know! I know!”

“We could have made a go of it and been a family, and we’ll never know, and it's all down to you!”

“It is not all down to him!” Louis shouts. “We wouldn't have worked out, and you know it! Stop punishin’ _Liam_ for our shortcomings!”

“Why can’t either of you admit what I fuckin’ know?” Zayn rages, jumping to his feet. “I’m not stupid! I know I just get in the way of your little family fantasy, Liam!”

“Don’t put those words in my mouth!”

Liam gets to his own feet. Sophie stands, trying to calm them both, but it’s too far gone now.

“Why don’t you two get busy making a baby of your own, an’ _you_ take Mia on weekends?” Zayn demands, getting in Liam's face.

Louis’ heart twists. “That's my _baby_ ,” he cries. “You can’t keep her weeks, anyway! You’re fuckin’ off partyin’ and working! D’you know how much Liam’s set his life aside to take care of a baby that ain’t even his?”

This is, of course, completely the wrong thing to say.

“No one asked him to do that!” Zayn hollers.

“No one had to!” Liam hollers back.

Zayn shoves him. Liam staggers back and knocks his hands away; Louis is immediately on his feet and between them, glaring Zayn hard in the face.

Sophie is half out the door, beckoning to their security down the hall.

“Louis, get out of the way,” Zayn says, as he catches his breath.

“No, you want to hit him, you go through me.”

“I’m not goin’ _through_ you, Christ.”

“Then _move_ me,” Louis spits at him.

Zayn’s face changes, becomes softer. “I’m not gonna lay hands on you, Louis, so just don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Oh, mate, come on." He looks hurt by the very idea. 

Behind them, Liam sits back down on the couch, letting out a sigh.

“It hurts me worse when you talk like you do,” Louis says, his voice catching in his throat. He looks up into Zayn’s dark eyes; Zayn looks miserable. “Hurts me way worse than you hitting me would. I’m just saying.”

He goes back and sits down next to Liam, even farther away from him than he was before.

“I’m going to go get smokes,” Zayn mutters, shrugging his jacket on.

“You’re leaving?” Louis says, incredulous. “We ain’t done!”

“ _I’m_ done,” Zayn says. “Sorry.”

Sophie comes back in as Zayn heads out; she looks shocked, and he just waves at her as he goes by.

She sits back down across from them. Liam has his arms folded tightly across his chest and is jiggling his leg.

“Part of that was my fault,” Louis mutters. “I baited ‘im.”

“Nah, that was all him,” Liam says.

“Payno… don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Sophie observes them.

“Just -- he ain’t always one hundred percent in the wrong.”

“I didn’t say he is! But he started that!”

“And I’m saying I baited him!”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Liam says, clearly exasperated. “I’m not going to take sides against you, but you always ask me to.”

“I just want you to be honest!”

“I _am_ being honest!”

“No,” Louis says, louder than he means to, “maybe you love me too much, or something, but --”

This clearly hurts Liam. He looks away, his jaw tight like Zayn’s was before.

“I’d like you both to take a few deep breaths,” Sophie says.

Louis doesn’t even know how to do that. His head is throbbing so bad he wants to vomit.

He does take the breaths, after a moment. They clear his head somewhat.

“Clearly this is a very difficult situation,” she says, in that cloying therapist’s voice.

“Yeah, it ain’t my favorite episode of Jeremy Kyle,” he says back.

She peers over her glasses at him. “What do you do, when you argue like this with Zayn? What makes you feel better?”

All of the things that normally do seem lost to him; the fans (every moment spent on social media is a minefield), getting out and helping people (requires him leaving the house), his family and his friends (ditto, and they keep asking him questions he can't answer), music (he feels totally creatively blocked, and he's exhausted all the time anyway).

“Liam,” Louis says, sort of sadly. “Liam always makes me feel better.”

Liam still doesn't look at him, but reaches out and takes his hand.

 

LONDON, MARCH 19, 2039

“How are you, Harry?” says Thomas. 

He's forgone the little notepad, which Harry appreciates. He’s well used to people writing while he talks, but it does have the effect of making him measure every word extremely carefully like he's trained to. He doesn't want to do that in therapy.

“Good,” he says. “I feel good.”

“Physically? Mentally? Emotionally?”

“All good, all good. Bit tired, of course.” Harry laughs. “Very tired, actually.”

Thomas smiles at him. Zayn picked Thomas out specifically; he told Harry, “I’m going to find you a nice omega bloke,” and then he did exactly that.

He did too good a job picking, apparently, because he liked Thomas enough to make him his own therapist. Zayn sees him twice a week, Harry only once.

It hasn’t been a problem so far, them seeing the same person -- and Harry doesn’t expect it to be, until Thomas says, “Zayn mentioned you’d been having nightmares.”

Harry blinks at him and runs his hand up and down over his thigh. “Did he?”

Thomas smiles in an apologetic way. “Yes. He said you had nightmares about the baby going missing, et cetera.”

“I always have those,” Harry murmurs, breaking eye contact. “For years now. About Cala.”

“And now about Des.”

“Yes.”

“Where do you think those originate from?”

This is a ridiculous bit of pussyfooting. They’re both aware of the long and stressful adoption process, of Harry’s miscarriage. Miscarriages, plural. He keeps forgetting.

“Anxiety,” he says, and lifts his gaze again to make very firm eye contact. But the sort of hypnosis thing he can do with most people doesn’t seem to work as well on therapists. Nor on journalists; seasoned ones, anyway.

“Right, anxiety,” Thomas says, still smiling. “Anxiety about your baby. But it can be representative of many different things. We know you’re a perfectionist, you like to get things right. You’re very careful and methodical. So maybe parenting is a tough circle for you to square, emotionally?”

“I do have a daughter,” Harry reminds him. “I’m not new to parenting.”

“Of course, but you were sort of thrown into that, weren’t you? When you adopted her, she was already her own little person. You have a lot of time to ruminate on who Des will be, how you’ll handle certain situations later on, and that wide field of possibility can be difficult for a perfectionist.”

“Sure,” Harry says. “I mean… that’s fair to say. Yeah.”

“Zayn thinks you have some lingering anxiety from your medical scare.”

Harry’s jaw tightens. He shifts on the loveseat, folding his arms. “Zayn might be projecting.”

“Do you not?”

“I barely remember it,” Harry says. “I remember him being born. I don't remember passing out. I remember going in and out, and then I woke up and Zayn was right there, and the baby was fine, and everything was fine.”

Thomas studies him. “You say ‘And the baby was fine.’ Did you worry something had happened to the baby?”

Harry exhales. “I just didn’t know what was going on, period.”

“Do you feel you worry excessively about Des in the daytime? To the extent that you’re aware of it?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Harry says simply. “I’m a fairly laidback father. I just want my kids to be happy and safe. I’m not a helicopter... Zayn’s more of a helicopter.”

“Do you feel like you’re moving on from miscarrying?”

Harry’s heart clenches fistlike. He was hoping they’d just skirt around this entirely.

“Which time?” he says, his lips twitching up in macabre amusement. Thomas doesn’t seem to find this even remotely funny.

“Either loss,” Thomas says.

“I’ve definitely moved on from Des’s twin,” Harry says, and clears his throat. “That didn’t hit me as hard. I was prepared for it.”

“What about the first loss?”

Harry shrugs.

“You mentioned, um…” Thomas pauses to rack his brain. Drawbacks of not taking paper notes, maybe. “Your D and C. That it upset you. Did you feel there were any similarities between that and hemorrhaging?”

Harry blinks and shakes his head. “Nah. Not, like… actively, no. That didn’t occur to me.”

“Okay. So -- you said you dwell on the D and C sometimes, but so far you don’t dwell on the hemorrhage.”

“Well, like I said, mate, I just don’t remember it very well…”

“Maybe that's a good thing?” Thomas suggests.

“In my mind, yeah.”

 

*

 

When he gets home, Zayn is on the phone in the sitting room. Harry stops in the hall and lifts his boot to check for a piece of gum he suspects he stepped in (he did), listening; he gathers that Zayn is on the phone with his agent from the things he's saying and the way he's saying them.

“It's like this, Brian,” he says as Harry walks through, carrying his shoe to the loo. “Hey, love,” Zayn whispers, and Harry pats him on the knee as he goes by. “I just don't think you're bein’ aggressive enough on my behalf.”

Harry sits on the closed toilet seat and scrubs at the gum with a spare toothbrush, thinking about what Thomas said and how he can approach Zayn about it without seeming like he's picking a fight.

He goes back out and fetches Desmond from the bassinet next to Zayn. The baby coos happily as Harry brings him into his arms, and Harry kisses him all over his head, bouncing his weight from foot to foot.

“I dunno, mate,” Zayn says. “D’you _want_ to be fired? I mean, it's not like I make any money for you if I don't actually fuckin’ work.”

“Where's Cala?” Harry whispers.

“With Mia,” Zayn mouths. “At football practice. Yeah, yeah, Brian, I do understand.”

“Hi baby,” Harry says, and eskimo kisses Desmond. Desmond makes a little happy sound. “Hi baby baby.” He blows a raspberry on his chest, and then sits down next to Zayn with the baby.

“Let’s talk about this later, yeah? Me husband just got home. Alright. Thanks, mate. Bye.”

Zayn taps his watch to end the call and sighs.

“That didn't sound great,” Harry says, and holds Desmond out to him.

Zayn takes the baby in the crook of his arm and tickles his feet. Desmond burbles, and Zayn gives him his proud dad smile. Harry loves that smile.

“Baby,” he says again, reaching out to aid in the tickling.

Zayn laughs. “You're funny.”

“Am I?”

“Have you noticed since we brought him home, you just walk around randomly goin’ ‘Baby!’ all day like an alarm clock?”

“Do I?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, now I’ll be self-conscious about it,” Harry objects.

“Don't, please don't, it's cute.”

Desmond tips his head back like he wants to look up at Zayn. Zayn lifts him he so can get a close-up look at his face. Desmond’s gaze flicks back and forth, and he goes briefly cross-eyed. Zayn laughs.

“Yas used to do that too,” he says. “Freaked me right the fuck out. I called me mum like, help, I've broken the baby's eyes, mum!”

Harry laughs. “Did he have belly time today?”

“That's next on the docket.”

“Alright. I was going to go put in a bit of time on the rowing machine.”

“Hazza, no, wait a little longer, please.”

“The doctor said it was okay...”

“No, she said it won't _kill_ you. Big difference. You've just had a baby like a week ago.”

Harry does the math in his head and finds that Zayn is unfortunately right. “Feels like longer.”

“I mean, we haven't been sleepin’ great.”

“I just want to be hot again.”

“You're always hot.” Zayn holds Des one-armed so he can pinch Harry’s arse. Harry laughs and wriggles away.

Zayn’s so much more casual with the baby than he is; he holds Desmond like he's an American football, sometimes. It makes Harry a little nervous and mostly jealous. He loves babies, but he hasn't gotten to have the tens of thousands of hours of baby time that make Zayn so comfortable with the process.

“So Thomas seemed to think I'm having nightmares,” he says.

Zayn inhales and looks down at their baby, not giving Harry eye contact. “Aye?”

“He said you told him that.”

“I s’pose I mentioned it. ‘Cos, y’know, you have been.”

“Maybe don't tell him things about me,” Harry says. “Maybe let me tell him things about me.”

Desmond, as if he feels the chill in the air, starts to fuss and cry. Zayn picks him up and starts walking around with him, bouncing him.

“He asked about our mar-riage,” Zayn sings with fake cheer. “About how you're doing and how it's affectin’ the two of us.”

“My nightmares are affecting you?”

“When you wake up as upset as you do, yeah! Look, babe, I'm having nightmares too, I told him about it and then he asked if you were. That's it. It's not some big conspiracy agains --” Desmond begins to really wail, now. “Against you. Does he sound hungry to you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, getting off the couch. He goes in the kitchen to warm a bottle, the clack of his heels on the hardwood punctuating Desmond’s cries.

While the bottle heats up, he rests his head against the marble counter. The baby crying fills him with a prickly, staticky anxiety that he hates.

He comes back and hands it to Zayn, who easily starts feeding him. Desmond quiets.

“Just felt ganged up on, that's all,” Harry says, and takes a seat.

“Sorry,” Zayn mutters. “Don't want you to feel like that in therapy, mate. Not my intention.”

“Can you give me him?” Harry says, shifting on the couch so he can lie back against the pillows. He's still sort of stiff and achey.

Zayn hands Desmond gingerly over. Harry takes him and stares lovingly at him, at his perfect little nose, his round cheeks, his rosy lips.

“You're the most beautiful baby ever,” Harry coos to him. “We made the most beautiful baby ever.”

“We did,” Zayn says, smiling at the two of them.

 

LONDON, MARCH 13, 2016

“Louis?”

Liam’s voice sounds worried through the door of the walk-in closet. Louis blearily sits up, letting his phone fall to the side.

“Yeah?”

“You okay? We’ve got therapy in an hour.”

Louis doesn’t respond. Liam opens the door and glances down at him, then wordlessly sits next to him on the floor.

“I don’t want to go,” Louis says.

“Hon, we have to, its court-mandated.”

“Then they can throw me in fuckin’ jail, but I'm not sitting there getting screamed at by -- _fuck_ ,” Louis says, noticing his boxers have a few spots of blood on them.

He gets up and goes into the bedroom. Liam, mercifully, doesn't follow. He changes into briefs and sticks one of the pads the hospital gave him into them, then returns to the closet.

Louis rubs at his temple with a knuckle. “I don't want to put you through that either.”

“I'm fine,” Liam assures him, getting up. “I'm fine, I'll sit through it. Maybe I even deserve some of it.”

“You don't deserve any of it.” Louis’ eyes get hot.

“Hey,” Liam says softly, putting his hands on his shoulders.

“I'm _fine_ ,” he exclaims, his voice scratchy. They keep saying that to each other, even though neither of them quite believes it. “I just don't want to be in that fucking room with him and you and that woman again, talking about what a mean whore I am. You go, I'll stay here with the baby and watch Bad Ink.”

Liam laughs. “You sort of have to be there, Louis, you're kind of the lynchpin. Not mean or a whore, by the way, please don't say shit like that. And we've already got the nanny for the afternoon.”

Louis blinks back the heat in his eyes. “Fine. Go get ready, then, and I'll get ready when you're done,” he says, and goes to fetch a sleeping Mia from the bassinet so he can cuddle up in bed with her in his arms.

Liam watches him, looking tired. “You won't get back up, now.”

“I promise I will.”

“I don't believe you.”

Mia stirs in her sleep. Louis gazes at her, stroking her cheek. Liam sighs and goes into the bathroom; the water runs, then his razor begins to buzz.

 

*

 

Liam dreads these therapy sessions like nobody's business.

He hides this from Louis, because he thinks Louis dreads them even more than he does, and Zayn probably dreads them most of all.

He sort of agrees with Zayn; he shouldn't be there. His presence only rankles Zayn, who lashes out over and over, further wounding Louis, who is a giant walking wound right now.

When Liam comes out of the bathroom, Louis is still in bed with the baby in his arms, looking small on top of the massive California king, framed by all their many pillows.

“Babe,” Liam says reluctantly.

“I know,” Louis mutters.

They make their way downstairs. Louis reluctantly passes Mia off to the nanny, who coos to her.

“She's in a good mood today,” Louis says. His voice is still crackly and husky, and his arms are folded tight over his chest. “Shouldn't give you any trouble. Um…” He scratches the back of his head. “I clipped her nails earlier, so you don't need to. I can't think of anythin’ else.”

“Okay,” Ingrid says cheerily, holding Mia to her shoulder and cradling her dark-haired little head. “Sounds good, Lou.”

He swallows and nods. “That's it, I reckon?”

Liam hands him a jacket. Louis stares at it.

“It’s chilly out.”

“Oh.”

 

*

 

In the car, they don't talk. Liam preoccupies himself thinking about work, about a meeting he's taking next week and some projects he's got gestating. He answers emails while Louis alternates between responding to texts and staring out the window, changing the music in the car in a scattered, manic way, jumping through genres and not letting any songs finish.

A One Direction song comes on, after a while. Little Black Dress.

“Ha ha,” Louis says drily, and immediately changes it.

“Hey, I like that one,” Liam protests. “We wrote that together.”

Louis sticks his hand out the window to ash his cigarette. “Not in the right mood, sorry.”

“Alright, alright…” Liam goes back to his phone. “Thought you quit smoking?”

“I did, for nine months.”

“But like, for good.”

“I’m trying, I am. It's never around the house, ever.”

“I stopped completely.”

“Well, and you never smoked as much as I did, Payno!” Louis exclaims, clearly exasperated.

They sit there in surly silence for a moment.

“Sorry,” Louis mutters. “I'm just anxious.”

“I am too,” Liam says sharply.

“I know, love.” Louis reaches over and strokes his hair. “I know. Sorry.”

“I’m sorry back.”

 

*

 

Dr Sophie has to lead them down a long hall to her office. Liam takes Louis’ hand as they start down it. Louis squeezes his.

Zayn's already there, sitting in a chair with bad posture, picking at his nails. They let go of each other in the doorway.

It kills Liam how even now when he sees Zayn, his heart is still a puppy in his chest, jumping up, making him think _friend!_ and every time, like cold water in his face, he has to remember that Zayn hates him now.

He sits on the end of the couch closest to him, though, so as to not make Louis sit between them.

Louis lingers in the doorway, looking unsure of himself and exhausted.

Dr Sophie takes her own seat and a sip of mineral water, looking at him expectantly.

“No fisticuffs this time?” he says, looking at Zayn.

“No fisticuffs, mate,” Zayn says quietly, straightening up.

“Okay,” Louis says, and sits.

“Okay,” Dr Sophie says, lacing her hands. “So how has this past week been?”

There's a collective shrug.

“Any rows?”

“No,” Louis says.

“Well, what have the interactions been?”

“Zayn came to pick up the baby on Friday,” Louis says. “I gave her to him. He brought her back Sunday.”

“Has that gotten any easier for you, letting her go with him? I know you mentioned last time, after Zayn left, that you had some separation anxiety.”

Louis picks at the couch. “Aye, I mean, I don't like being apart from her, but it is what it is…”

“Zayn, has parenting alone gotten easier?”

Zayn nods. “I’ve been feeling, like, more on top of it… I’ve been getting more help, too, so.”

“Good!” Dr Sophie looks pleased. “That's progress.”

She turns her gaze on Liam. He looks steadily back at her.

“Liam,” she says. “How do you feel?”

He shrugs. “Alright.”

“How's parenting?”

“Good,” he says lamely.

She eyes him. “You're feeling alright?”

“Just tired.”

“You know, it's important for you to maintain your own identity, right now.”

He's surprised by this. Louis is studying him.

“I am,” he says. “I'm working on solo stuff, I'm having meetings, I'm talking to my own friends and all that.”

“Do you and Louis support each other?”

Liam thinks that he would never ask Louis to be the one supporting him right now, that Louis is bit of an hormonal, angry, weepy needy mess and it's okay for him to be, it’s okay for him not to be tough and protective, for once. That Liam really likes taking care of him, anyway.

“Sure,” he says, but it doesn't sound convincing.

She turns to Louis. “How are you bonding with the baby?”

Louis seems surprised and almost offended by this question. Liam knows she's only asking it because in all the parenting books he's read, in the paragraph titled postpartum depression, that's the first symptom.

He comforts himself with that thought whenever Louis goes off to wander at three in the morning, muttering that he's taking a walk, or cries in the shower, or stares mutely into space at dinner -- he's still totally in love with the baby, he's still affectionate with Liam, it can’t be all that serious.

“He's really close with her,” Liam says, when Louis remains silent. “Sometimes she cries and cries with me or the nanny or his mum, and gets totally quiet the second he takes her.”

Louis nods, looking at his own clasped hands, rubbing at a nicotine stain on his thumbnail. “Yeah, I haven't had any trouble bonding with her, so…”

“Zayn?”

“Um,” Zayn says. “I dunno. It's fine, I reckon. I think she likes me, or whatever.”

“She does like you,” Louis says softly. “I told you you're good with her.”

“Alright. Then, yeah.”

Dr Sophie lets this civil moment rest for a beat before she redirects them.

“So, last time,” she says, “I felt there was a lot of anger just sort of chaotically swirling around. And a lot of you statements. I'd like to hear some I statements from each of you, about the nature of your anger toward each other. Try to phrase things as _I feel_. Liam?”

Liam looks up at her, stricken. “I’m not angry.”

“You seemed sort of angry, last session,” she says gently.

Liam is sleep-deprived, and for a moment in this room -- with its flat lighting and nondescript decor -- she appears to be floating in a beige void. He blinks.

“I was upset,” he mutters. “I’m not angry. I'm just upset.”

“Upset about what?”

He shrugs. His chest feels tight. No one is looking at each other.

“Can you tell me how you feel, Liam?” she wheedles.

“I’d rather not.”

Zayn snorts.

“See, but like, I can't win with you,” Liam says, rounding on him, his voice more pleading than angry. “I -- sorry, I _feel_ like I can't win. I _feel_ like no matter what I say, you're on my arse. I _feel_ like I can't even exist.”

Zayn, who looks thin and drawn, says nothing and doesn't make eye contact with him. His jaw is tight.

“Good, Liam,” says Dr Sophie.

“I'm done,” he says. “That's it. That's all I have to say.”

“Okay.” She turns to Louis, who looks up with a defiant glint in his eye that makes Liam dread whatever he's about to say. “Louis?”

“How do I feel,” he says.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Yeah. I feel like Zayn’s bein’ sort of completely ridiculous. I feel like he treats Liam like shit and doesn't care how that makes me feel, much less Liam.”

Zayn starts to interrupt, and Louis’ voice pitches up a decibel, shutting him down.

“I _feel_ like he thinks I'm stupid for being hurt that ‘e got me pregnant and abandoned me --”

“You abandoned _me_!” Zayn snaps.

“‘I feel,’ please,” Dr Sophie says, sort of timorously. “I _feel_ you abandoned me.”

“I _know_ he abandoned me!”

“No, I know you abandoned _me_!” Louis cries, his voice cracking.

Liam is sat back as far as he can be in the couch, his hand pressed to his mouth, trying to be as inconspicuous as humanly possible.

“I left the band, not you!”

“You left me too! You _ghosted_ me, you wouldn't even speak to me!”

“‘Cos I knew you were gonna hate me for leaving!”

“Yeah, you got that one right, congratulations!”

“If I’d told you I wanted to leave, you'd have talked me out of it,” Zayn says, his voice soaked with hurt. “And I needed to go. _Needed_ to. And I knew if I left without telling you, you'd want nothin’ to do with me for a long time.”

“I didn't have a choice,” Louis says. His arms are wrapped tightly around himself. “I couldn't have nothin’ to do with you, could I, I was having your baby.”

“But you still wouldn't come home from the tour.”

“I couldn't,” Louis says, very softly. “You could’ve come out and tried to be with me.”

“You didn't _want_ me to.”

“I never said that. I asked you if you thought it could work and you shot me down.”

“‘Cos I didn't want to be with you all forced and fake just ‘cos we were havin’ a baby together! I wanted you to make that fuckin’ sacrifice --

“-- a sacrifice that would've lost dozens of people their jobs, stiffed the fans, stiffed the band --”

“-- but I knew you wouldn’t! I knew you weren't in love with me!”

“Like you were in love with _me_?”

Zayn is silent.

Liam finds, quite suddenly, that he can't stand listening to another second of this. He gets up and goes into the hall to find a water fountain. His head is pounding.

He finds something better; a little fridge in the deserted waiting area with Fiji waters in it. He gets one and drains half of it.

Louis appears and leans against the doorway, tear tracks down his face. His face is still filled out from the baby weight, and his cheeks are pink from crying, making him look younger. Liam aches for him.

“Hey,” Louis says, softly.

“I'm okay, I just needed a mo,” Liam reassures him. “I'm not upset.”

“You sure?”

“Tommo, I just wanted some water.”

Louis nods. He's bleary-eyed and slow of reflex. Liam comes over and hands him the bottle.

“I'm fine,” he says in a low voice. “I promise.”

“Oh, good,” Louis says, and takes a sip. “Glad somebody's fine.”

He lets out a laugh tinged with hysteria. Liam wraps an arm around him and takes him back to the room.

Zayn looks gray-faced and unsettled, like he's shown his cards. Dr Sophie is pretending at cheer.

“Hello,” she says with a wide smile, like nothing has just happened.

Liam returns her smile. Louis takes a seat on the couch again, and puts his foot carelessly up on the coffee table. No one dares to object to this.

“Zayn,” Dr Sophie says. “You haven't actually gotten to go yet.”

Zayn inhales.

“I feel like nobody gives a fuck how I feel,” he mutters. “So.”

“Well, that's a great start,” Louis comments. “Really got a lot of room to have a productive conversation when that's where we start from.”

“Oh, fuck off, Louis,” Zayn says. “It's how I fuckin’ feel, alright?”

“I'm just saying it's a bit of a trap,” Louis retorts. “I _do_ give a fuck how you feel.”

Zayn laughs without humor. “Do you?”

“Yeah!” His voice cracks.

“Never feels like that. Never.”

“I dunno what the fuck you want from me, mate,” Louis says. “I don't think you get how much time we spend sittin’ around talking about you and how to make things better with you and how to not step on your toes.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Then why d’you act so hostile to me?”

“‘Cos you keep fuckin’ _hurting_ us, stupidarse!”

“I don't want to!” Zayn shouts. “But you’ve got no idea how bad you've hurt _me_ , none! You keep actin’ like I'm stupid for being hurt!”

“I think you do want to hurt us! I think you want to punish us!”

“Yeah, fine, I do! I fuckin’ do!”

Louis leans over and presses his face to his palms. Liam tentatively rubs his back.

“I think it's fair to say that everyone in this situation is hurt, to some extent,” Dr Sophie says.

“Liam ain't hurt,” Zayn spits. “Liam got everything he wanted.”

“I never wanted you to hate me,” Liam says, before he can stop himself.

“Shoulda thought of that,” Zayn says.

It doesn't sound like his heart is in it.

“Yeah, whatever, mate,” Liam says, aching so bad he almost can't breathe. “Whatever.”

 

*

 

Louis rolls up the partition and smokes in the car on the way home, too.

Liam eyes him.

Louis eyes him back. “What?”

“You know what, alright?”

Louis leans out the window, squinting into the sunset, and blows out smoke. He looks exhausted, embattled, with dark circles under his eyes.

“Just trying to get me girlish figure back,” he says with a wry smile. “Don't be cross with me.”

“Love…”

“Yeah, honey?” His voice is playful with an edge.

“I just worry about you.”

Louis comes across the seats to sit on Liam's lap. Liam wraps an arm around his waist, the soft heat of him. Louis strokes Liam’s face, pushing his hair back, and then kisses him, lingering on his top lip. Then he takes one last drag and flicks the cigarette out the window.

“You know I love you,” he murmurs.

“I know you do," Liam says. "You don't have to remind me..."

“I want to, so let me.”

“Okay.” Liam kisses him on the nose. “I love you too.”

 

*

 

The baby is mercifully down when they get home, so they see the nanny off and run to the guest bedroom.

Louis sets the monitor on a dresser and flips the lights off, shedding his clothes and lying back on the bed. Liam follows him, kneeling on the mattress, managing to kiss up his thigh and over his hipbone before Louis tenses up with insecurity and redirects him.

“I wanna sixty-nine,” he says, sitting up on his elbow, his eyes dancing with mischief even in the dark.

“Okay,” Liam agrees immediately, and they go to the trouble of arranging themselves for that.

Ten or so minutes in, he takes Louis’ cock out of his mouth to ask him if he can put it in him.

Louis gives him a cheerful but muffled _nope_.

Liam, disappointed, returns to blowing him, occasionally getting distracted for minutes at a time by the blissful vacuum of Louis’ mouth on his cock or balls. Whenever he does, Louis taps him gently on the arse to get him going again.

He comes first, and then they shift on the bed, Louis lying back against the pillows while a happily post-orgasm Liam licks and sucks greedily at him until he's done, too.

He grabs a tissue off the nightstand and spits into it, then moves up the bed and cuddles up against Louis, who wraps an arm around him and starts running his fingers through his hair.

Liam clears his throat. “When d’you think we can, um --”

“Fuck me in the arse? When I feel normal downstairs again.”

“I was gonna say make love, but alright.”

“You can make love on me when I feel normal downstairs, then.”

“ _With_ you,” Liam corrects.

He really misses being inside of Louis, being clutched by the tight heat of him, their bodies wrapped around each other.

Louis scratches his scalp. Liam closes his eyes; it feels good.

The baby makes a sound on the monitor.

“Don't wake up,” Louis groans. “Please don't wake up.”

They wait in hesitant silence, but she doesn't wake up. They relax against each other, breathing in the smells of sex.

“Those make me feel so shitty,” Louis says after a while, his voice crackling in his throat. “Those sessions. Like I keep hearing his voice in my head, right now.”

Liam kisses the juncture where his shoulder meets his pec muscle. “He doesn't mean half the shit he says.”

“Ah, you liar,” Louis says congenially. “Yeah, he does. It's alright, though.”

He doesn't say anything for a while.

“Part of me thinks I ought to just bear it,” he murmurs. “‘Cos it's all my fault anyway. And I don't even mind so much when he comes after me, but it's when he goes for you it drives me mad.”

“Tommo…”

“No, Liam, it ain't your fault, none of it.”

“I could've said no to you. Pushed you away.”

“I wouldn't’ve believed you,” Louis says. “And I took advantage of… I dunno. The situation. Everything. The alpha thing.”

Hot guilt pulses in Liam's gut. “I would've taken any excuse to be with you. Which makes it even worse.”

“Fine, we’re just a couple of rotten bastards.” Louis strokes his hair some more. “But you're the best of all of us, Payno.”

Liam’s cheeks burn with some mixed-up flattery shame thing. “I'm not.”

“You are. You stood by me through all this, you're raising a baby that ain't yours.”

“I _love_ you,” Liam protests. “I love your baby. And I wanted to start a family. What's noble about that? Like Zayn said, I got everything I wanted. I'm the most selfish prick involved in this. If I was really selfless and noble, I'd’ve let you two be together.”

“No,” Louis says sharply.

“It's true.”

“It's not!”

Liam sits up and pulls his knees to his chest. “People who have kids together should be together.”

“On what planet?” Louis says, looking at him incredulously. “If I had to marry everyone I had unprotected sex on a tour bus with, I'd be fucked.”

Liam snorts weakly.

“C’mon, that was funny,” Louis says.

The baby, who's been stirring on the monitor, begins to cry. Louis sighs and gets up to fetch her, leaving Liam alone for a moment. He counts the stripes on the bedspread.

Louis comes back with her over his shoulder, bouncing from foot to foot to soothe her.

“Look,” he whispers, “I hate these thought experiments, alright? It is what it is. What happened, happened. He needs to stop punishin’ us and learn to accept it.”

Mia wails and Louis coos to her, going _shh, shh_.

“When I was with Zayn, he was cool, like, he was sweet to me, he was --” He breaks off and swallows hard. “He was my partner in crime, alright? He was the bloke we both knew. But as soon as he left -- imaginin’ making it work with that person he’s been lately…” Louis says this sort of miserably, as he rocks Zayn’s baby.

“I do get it,” Liam says. He sighs and kicks the pooled and sweaty sheets away from him.

Mia slowly quiets down. Louis kisses her on the head.

“Wanna have cuddle time?” he says, looking up at Liam.

He nods and spreads his arms. Louis comes over and settles against the pillows, Liam wrapped around him, the baby against his chest.

He drifts off to asleep, after a while, and Mia falls back to sleep, too. Liam doesn't, though. Liam stays awake, looking at them and thinking.

 

LONDON, MARCH 25, 2039

The morning before his next appointment with the shrink, Zayn has a nightmare that he's at Harry’s funeral.

It's stark in its realism, other than that it's for some reason being held in the shoe department at Harrods. Everyone is there, weeping, giving him their condolences. He's holding the baby and trying to keep it together. The grief feels real.

He wakes up distraught, and then sees Harry lying next to him, and a flood of relief rushes through his body.

Zayn reaches out and strokes his hair. Harry stirs.

“Hey,” he murmurs sleepily, and glances at his watch. “Baby wake you?”

“No,” Zayn says. It's six now, and Des has been down since he changed him at three. “Just woke up.”

He lies back down and cuddles close to him, spooning him.

“You okay?” Harry says in his low morning voice, lacing his fingers with Zayn’s.

“Nightmare.”

“Ohh. What about?”

“Usual shit.”

Harry turns; his eyes rove over his face. “I'm fine, lovey.”

“I know. I know.”

 

*

 

Zayn has Stefan stop at Taco Bell before they go to Thomas’ posh little home office.

It's the most relaxed environment Zayn's ever had therapy in -- a beautiful house in Surrey, with large bay windows and wood everywhere. Totally silent save for the clicking of Thomas’ poodle’s toenails on the floor and a ticking grandfather clock. Sort of eerie, actually.

“You good?” Stefan says to him, handing him the tacos.

“Yeah, why?”

“You look shook up, and you're eating Grade H meat, is all.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Hey,” he says. “You think I should fire my agent?”

“Fuck yeah. I been telling you to for years, mate.”

Zayn nods and hands him a taco.

 

*

 

“How are you?” Thomas says cheerfully, once they're settled with cups of tea.

_Tick tick. Click click._

“Good,” Zayn says, because he can't stand the silence.

He maybe isn't good.

He checked his watch twice on the way over, bringing up the little holographic display of the house, watching as the dot representing Harry moved from room to room, reassuring himself that it was moving.

Then it stopped in the bath for thirty minutes, longer than Harry ever showers. He'd kept having visions in his head of Harry with his head split open on the linoleum. So he'd texted him _just checking in_ and Harry had said _im fine, im just in the bathtub xx_. And then Zayn had remembered guiltily that Harry’d been split from stem to stern and nearly bled out just a week ago, that he's still in a lot of pain and taking a lot of baths.

“Anxious,” he amends.

Thomas nods. “About your husband or the baby?”

“Both. Everybody.”

“Okay. How do you deal with that anxiety?”

Zayn shrugs. “Stay at home with them a lot, mostly.” He fiddles with the bracelet he's wearing, the one Zoe gave him ages ago when he went into rehab. He’s stopped collecting sobriety chips, but he still wears the bracelet.

“Any more nightmares?”

Zayn tells him about last night’s dream. Thomas’ brow furrows as he listens.

“Funny that it was a funeral, but held in such a public space,” he comments. “Could that be a metaphor for how you feel your relationship with Harry has always been? Under a microscope, even in death?”

“That sounds right,” Zayn says. “Dunno if it's all that deep, though.”

He scratches his thigh. Thomas smiles at him.

“How can we cope with this new anxiety? Other than staying home?”

Zayn laughs. “Go back on meds?”

“Well,” Thomas says hesitantly. “I’d prefer we not go there straight off the bat. Do you feel like the rTMS is no longer effective?”

“No, I mean, it's been keepin’ me in good stead for a few years now,” Zayn says.

“And you think it still is?”

Zayn shrugs. “This really scary thing just happened,” he says. “It's gonna take me a minute to get back on track. Get back to equilibrium, like. Then I can re-evaluate.”

“Do you think you'll be able to progress back to a mental space where you aren't worrying about Harry when you're not with him?”

“I should be able to.”

“Okay, good. I can check in with you on that as we continue to meet.”

“Cool.”

Thomas observes him. Zayn clasps his palms.

“Do you have the urge to check in on Harry even as you're sitting here?”

“Yeah,” Zayn admits.

“What do you think will have happened to him?”

“I dunno. Different things.”

“What things?”

“It's got to do with him bleeding, usually,” Zayn admits. “I can see the connection. It's fairly obvious. Him cuttin’ himself by accident, busting ‘is head open on the floor.”

“What do you do when you have those intrusive thoughts?”

“Snap myself out of it. Snap a rubber band on me wrist, like when I was getting sober, or summat like that. Whatever's handy to me.”

“Is that working?”

“Yeah. In the moment, yeah. But the thoughts come back.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, in a soothing voice. “Any about the baby?”

“I don't worry about him so much,” Zayn says. “More like an extension of worrying about Harry. Like, oh, Harry's bleedin’ out dead on the floor and then the baby’s wrapped himself in the blanket in his crib, and he's dead too.”

Thomas winces.

“Dark, innit?”

“Very. Does Harry know you have these thoughts?”

Zayn snorts. “What good would that do? It'd just make him worry about me. He’s exhausted, he just had a baby and an emergency surgery. I'm fine.”

“You deserve to be reassured, Zayn.”

“I'm a big boy, I can reassure myself.”

Thomas’s eyes soften. “You don't always have to. You can tell your partner these things. Voicing them can help you, it can help defang your fears.”

Zayn shrugs.

“I know you've said you've been been supporting him emotionally a lot, this past year. And since his first miscarriage, and his father’s death.”

“Yeah.” His voice sounds flat in a way he doesn't mean it to be.

“So maybe you're trying to protect him right now?”

“He should be protected,” Zayn argues. “He had a really tough pregnancy. He went through a lot. Why should I make his life harder by making him worry about me worryin’ about him?”

“I would just argue that it could be detrimental to your relationship to strangle communication.”

“I'm not strangling anything. I'm not. I'm being conscientious.”

“And the other side of that coin can often be excessive self-sacrifice.”

“That's up to me to decide,” Zayn says sharply.

Thomas nods. “It is. I agree. I'm just asking questions.”

 

*

 

Mia greets him at the door, holding Desmond.

“Hey, Dad,” she says with a warm smile.

He gives the smile back. “Where's Harry?”

She rolls her eyes.

“What?”

She does a low-voiced, grunting imitation of Zayn. “ _Where's Harry?_ No ‘hello, my darling daughter, thank you for babysitting’ --”

“Hello my darling daughter, thanks for babysitting, where's me husband?”

“Upstairs, napping.” She leads him inside; he tosses his jacket to the robot butler.

Cala’s lying on the floor in the living room with an open book in front of her.

“Hey, lovey,” he calls to her.

“Hi, Daddy. Mia, I can't read this word.”

Mia kneels down next to her, shifting the baby onto her hip. “‘Expected’.”

“Ohh.”

“Gimme the kid,” Zayn says, holding his hands out. “You're swingin’ him around like a cricket bat.”

Mia hands him over with a huff. Desmond burbles happily as he's deposited into Zayn’s arms, and Zayn goes upstairs.

Harry is laid out very dramatically over their bed, face-down, the sheet covering his thighs but leaving his naked arse peeking out, with the lights off and daylight streaming through the blinds.

“Babe,” Zayn whispers to him. “What's up?”

Harry groans. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Zayn sits on the bed next to him. “No sorry needed. You feeling alright?”

“I'm fine… just fucking exhausted…”

“You wanna see the baby?” Zayn says in a baby voice. “You wanna see chubby Desmond?”

“He's not chubby!” Harry exclaims, his voice muffled.

“Who’s a fat baby,” Zayn coos to Desmond, rocking him. “Who was born nine pounds?”

“He's _healthy_ ,” Harry protests, rolling over. “He's long, too. Big tall baby.”

Zayn hands him their big tall baby. Harry slides a hand under his head to support it; Desmond gazes up at him, making little noises.

“It's ‘cos I ate so much flaxseed when I was pregnant,” Harry coos to him.

“Somehow I think it’s more down to genetics,” Zayn says.

“Oh, your dad’s such a bore, Dezzy Dezza.” Without taking his eyes off the baby, Harry says, “How was your session?”

Zayn shrugs.

Smiling, Harry goofily imitates his shrug, bouncing his shoulders up and down until Desmond lets out a little whimper and he has to stop. Zayn reaches out and lays a hand on his thigh, idly stroking him with his thumb, just watching him with the baby.

“What was your nightmare?” Harry murmurs, meeting his eyes.

Zayn is about to blow him off, but inhales. “Uh… your funeral.”

Harry’s face falls. “Oh. Like -- we were old?”

“No, love… I think it was like…” He hesitates. “If you’d died havin’ him.”

“Ohh,” Harry says, and smiles darkly. “If I’d had a good old-fashioned omega farmboy death? Dead of childbirth in the potato fields?”

The blood drains from Zayn’s face. “Don’t. Don’t, alright? You don’t know what it was like for me, after they took you away.”

“Love, I’m not making fun of you,” Harry says, very gently, and beckons him close. Zayn lies back against the pillows, and Harry settles the baby on his chest, Desmond’s little hand gripping Zayn’s shirt, then curls up beside him.

Zayn wraps an arm around Harry, stroking his hair.

“I just think if we spend all this time dwelling, it’s just going to make it this grim spectre in our heads,” Harry whispers. “And give our fear too much power, and paralyze us... I mean, what if we wanted to have one more baby?”

“No,” Zayn says flatly. “We’re not. Adopt another, fine. I can’t let you go through that again.”

“It was just an example.”

“Aye, well, I know you. You want to put your life in danger again, use someone else’s sperm, this time.”

Harry laughs and kisses him on the ribs. “You can’t worry about me all day long.”

“I know that.”

“And you’ve got to let me make light of it, and say dark shit,” he says. “You know how I cope. It’s me who could’ve died, babe. It’s me who was in labor for thirty-odd hours.”

“I just can’t listen to you make jokes about it,” Zayn says. “One of the worst moments of my life.”

Harry is silent; Zayn glances down and sees that tears are working their way down his cheeks.

“Oh, love,” he says, shifting the baby on him so he can wipe them away. “Sorry, sorry.”

“No, it's not you,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I dunno what's wrong with me. I'm all tetchy and wrong-headed.”

“You just had a baby.”

“Well,” Harry says, swallowing. His eyes are bright. “I don't like it.”

“Let’s just be kind to ourselves.” Zayn strokes the baby’s head. “And each other. Let’s give it some time.”

Harry nods, then props his chin up on his hand, gazing at the two of them.

 

LONDON, MARCH 21, 2016

Mia sucks on her fingers as she lies on Louis’ stomach. It's a nice day, and he's lying outside on a chaise, sunglasses on, his phone a few feet away so he won't feel tempted to look at it.

He sings to the baby, nothing in particular, a tuneless little lullaby that seems to soothe her.

His phone rings.

“No,” he groans quietly.

But it continues to ring. He looks over at it. _Penny PR_ is displayed on the lock screen.

“Hello,” chirps Penny when he picks up. “D’you have a minute?”

“Yeah.”

“I just want to alert you about a story that's come out.”

He's numb to this, by now. “Sure.”

“TMZ is claiming Zayn wasn't present at the baby’s birth. That Liam was there in his stead.”

So, the truth.

“I’ve got no comment on that.”

“Of course. Just wondering if you wanted us to deny it.”

“Don't deny it. Don't do anything, ignore it.”

“Yes, Louis. Will do, thank you. Sorry for the disruption. How's are you, how's the baby?”

“You're fine, Penny. She's doing great, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it.”

They wish each other a good afternoon and ring off.

Louis sits up, pulling Mia’s fingers out of her mouth and replacing them with a dummy. He carries her in.

Liam is in the dining room, looking through the mail. “Hey, bring me that kid,” he says, without looking up. “Haven't seen her all day.”

Louis gladly hands her over. Liam coos to her, a smile breaking across his face.

This is the man he wants to marry, Louis thinks, watching them together. He’s so sure of this that it takes his breath away.

“What?” Liam murmurs, glancing up at him. Mia’s little hand is fisted in his white tee.

“What what?”

“I can feel you thinking about something.”

“Counseling’s going to be shit, today, is all,” Louis says.

“More shit than shit? How much worse can it get?”

Louis inhales. “TMZ’s got it that you were in the delivery room, and Zayn wasn't.”

Liam's face falls. He looks down at Mia, who looks back at him innocently, totally unaware of his tawdry history with her fathers.

“Oh,” he says. “And we can't really deny that.”

“Can't really comment on it at all.” Louis shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Fuck,” Liam mutters. “It ain't even our fault. I didn't want it to be me in there.”

“Yeah you did.”

“Not once you went into labor. Yeah, before I did, I was stupid. I didn't know, I didn't know how -- I didn't know what a big thing it’d be. He should’ve seen his baby born.”

“If he'd made it there on time, I would've had him in there,” Louis mutters, folding his arms. “I _wanted_ him in there. Even with us not together, I wanted him in the room. It's his fault he wasn't. He knew the baby could come any time. A due date ain't set in stone.”

“I know,” Liam says. “I know.”

 

*

 

Louis hopes in vain that maybe Zayn hasn't seen the headline, but of course he has. And of course his PR team has called him, as well.

“I don't care,” he mutters when Dr Sophie brings it up in session. “Figured someone’d drag it up eventually. Fits their narrative.”

“Their? They who?” she says.

“Tabloids.”

“What's the narrative?”

Zayn shrugs. “That everythin’ about this is so, like, dramatic and sexy.”

“Dramatic and sexy in what way?”

Zayn doesn't seem to want to answer; he looks at Louis as if to pass this off on him.

“Everything,” Louis mutters. “All the drama, everything. That she was conceived on tour, while Zayn was cheating on Perrie with me. That Zayn left. Everything with Liam. Everything. They want to think Zayn’s a cuck, a cheater and a shit dad --” (Zayn flinches) “-- and that I'm trash, and they look for anything that confirms all that.”

“It almost seems like you think you deserve this level of scrutiny, Louis,” she says. “The way you talk about it.”

He shrugs. “It's just the way it is. It's all true, so…”

“Well, that's correct, it's not manufactured,” Dr Sophie says. “But the thing is, this isn't drama. It's just the facts of your lives and the difficult decisions you've all had to make when it comes to raising this baby. It isn't drama. It's your own personal private lives, which you have a right to. You don't have to feel like you owe it to the public to have your own painful, personal business up for consumption like this.” She pauses. “It's a crime against your privacy, really. All of you.”

Louis softens toward her somewhat. “Thanks.”

 

*

 

They take a break halfway through, when they've all gone moodily silent and recalcitrant and they're not making much progress. Liam has to take a call, so Louis leaves him and wanders out back to the alley to smoke.

It's chilly out, and he forgot his jacket; he folds his arms across his chest, then winces and drops them. His nipples and pecs are really sore today.

He can almost feel the hormones coursing through him. He always pictures them as a visible thing, a viscous dark sludge chugging through his blood, poisoning him, making him bitchy and crazy and tired.

The door creaks open, and Zayn appears with cigarettes in his hand. Down at the end of the alley, Daniel whips around, then sees who it is and turns back again.

“Hey,” Louis murmurs.

“Thought you quit,” Zayn says, packing the cigarettes on the flat of his palm.

“For a while, there.”

“Heroic,” Zayn says with a little smile.

“Haven't smoked weed since last May.”

“Even more heroic. You got a light?”

Louis hands him his.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “That the story came out. I dunno how it would’ve.”

“Nurses blab,” Zayn says, taking a drag. “‘S how everyone found out about the baby in the first place, right? Nurse blabbed?”

“Yeah, but in the delivery room it was one nurse, one midwife, and Joan was in there. That's it.”

Zayn exhales. “Right. Then, uh… might be that I’ve mentioned it to some people.”

Louis’ heart drops. “Cheers,” he says nastily.

“What else was I gonna do?” Zayn demands. “I got friends that ask me, what was it like seeing your kid born? So yeah, answer’s I don't fuckin’ know, mate, ask Liam!”

“It wasn't my fault! I called you! Over and over, we called you!”

“I know, I know.”

“I didn't know I was in labor ‘til it was too late!”

“I _know_!”

“I hate this counseling shit,” Louis says. “I hate it. We drag this shit up enough without help. We should be moving on, not rehashing it over and over.”

“I agree,” Zayn snaps. “I'm only here ‘cos it's a custody requirement. Ain't here for me health.”

“Me neither,” Louis says. “You think I like this?”

“No one likes this, mate.”

Louis swallows. “I wanted you there with me. I wanted you to hold my hand. I did.”

Zayn scuffs his shoes, looking miserable. “I wanted that too.”

Tears start welling in Louis’ eyes. He looks away, down the alley at Daniel, who's silhouetted against the street and the cars passing by. It's a bleak, foggy day.

“C’mere,” Zayn says, stretching an arm out. “C’mere, c’mere. This is stupid.”

Louis bites his lip hard, so he doesn't actually cry. He takes another drag off his cigarette and drops it, grinds it under his heel, and comes toward Zayn, who hugs him.

“Just think about the kid,” Zayn whispers in his ear. “That's all that matters.”

“Stop,” Louis says, face pressed to the warm crook of his neck, his breath hitching. “That makes me sadder.”

Zayn laughs ruefully.

“Let’s go back in and tell Sophie to fuck off,” he says. “And let’s not do the five sessions. Three’s enough. Three’s too much.”

“One was too much.” Louis inhales.

“Agreed.” Zayn strokes his hair. “Go get your boyfriend off the phone so we can wrap this up, aye?”

Louis nods and separates from him, wiping his eyes. “You seem thin, mate.”

By thin, he means at a One Direction-era weight, which was never quite a healthy standard for any of them to aspire to -- but maybe especially so for him and Zayn, who used to lie around on the tour bus smoking weed and trying to blunt their munchies with cigarettes and, once they'd started fucking, giving each other head.

Zayn just shrugs, though.

“Everything good? Besides all this shit? Work, Geeg, all going alright?”

“Don't call her Geeg…”

“Whatever.”

“Things are alright, yeah,” Zayn mutters. “Just sort of… Dunno. A lot going on.”

“Sorry.”

Zayn shrugs, again. “Thanks for doing the heavy lifting,” he says. “Having her most of the time. Like, I want her more, but I just -- it'd make my life so complicated to be, like, a full-time single dad.”

“That's why I never tried to force that on you,” Louis says. His throat feels tight. “It was my decision to keep her, not yours. I know you're starting your solo career off, you're only twenty-two... Sorry, twenty-three.”

Zayn's dark eyes search his face. "That shit's all true of Liam, too." 

Louis' face gets hot for reasons he can't pin down.

"He chose it," he says. "You didn't. He made a choice that the two of us never got to make. And besides, he could leave me any time right now and Mia'd never remember that he was even around. But she's half you. She couldn't forget you if she wanted to. Same in reverse."

Zayn says, in a raw voice, "I can't imagine him leavin' you."

Louis lets out a laugh without humor. "Hey, people leave, mate."

Zayn inhales. 

"I did make a choice," he says. "I wasn't careful, when we had sex. We should've always used rubbers. I just, like... I wanted to feel as close to you as I could."

Louis drags in a breath, his head starting to faintly throb again like it has been lately. "Me too."

Zayn gives him a wan smile. 

When they go inside, Liam's already back in Sophie’s office, chatting with her as he scrolls through his texts. He looks up at them impassively.

Dr Sophie sneezes.

“Sorry,” she says, dabbing at her nose with a handkerchief. “I'm sensitive to, um, perfume and cigarette smoke and things.”

Louis and Zayn apologize in tandem as they sit back down.

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Liam says. “I keep wearing cologne to these.”

“Good thing you found this out the last session,” Louis says.

Zayn snorts, which he finds encouraging.

“Oh, so you aren't doing the whole five?” Dr Sophie says, glancing up.

“No, me and Zayn decided,” Louis says. “Three’s plenty. Thanks, though.”

“Well, I hope these sessions helped you, at least a little,” she says.

Louis shrugs. “We’ll see.”

 

*

That night, Liam stays up late playing his advance copy of 2K17 downstairs and doesn't get to bed until around one. Louis wakes up when he hears him come in the room, stumbling around in the dark.

He listens as he brushes his teeth, impatiently waiting for him to come to bed. He hates sleeping without Liam.

Liam snuggles up behind him, wrapping his arms around him. Louis nuzzles up against him -- back firmly against his chest and stomach, arse firmly against his nethers, their hands intertwined.

“Sorry,” Liam whispers. “I wake you?”

“It's okay.”

“I can get up with the baby next, if you want.”

“Nah, I'll get her. You get some sleep.”

“Okay.”

Liam settles against the pillows, breathing steadily. Louis trails a finger over his arm.

“Which chevron am I, again?” he murmurs.

Liam laughs. “The top one.”

“Thought I was one up from the bottom.”

“No, the top one.”

“It’d be funny if you’d used it when we were on tour as like, a daily ranking of who you liked best.”

Liam laughs harder, his breath warm against Louis’ neck. “Make you fight for my affection.”

“But the joke’s on them, ‘cos I’m on top.”

“You are.”

Louis draws little circles on his forearm. “Even when I’m a pain in your arse?”

“Even then.”

 

LONDON, MARCH 30, 2039

The rack in the oven rattles as Liam pulls a tray of scones out and sets them on the kitchen island.

“Ta-da,” he says, and slaps Louis’ hand as it snakes out. “ _Way_ too hot.”

“I'll be the judge of that.”

“I can guarantee they are. Anyway, I've got a call real quick, so don't eat them all without me.”

Harry watches him as he strolls away, whistling. Louis watches him go, too, and then picks up a scone as soon as he's gone.

“Shit,” he says, spitting out a mouthful into a napkin.

Harry laughs. “I think you rather had that coming.”

“It's always worth checking for yourself,” Louis says with a wink. He leans on the counter with his elbows. “So, back to what you were saying.”

“Oh, I dunno.” Harry shifts a sleeping Desmond in his arms. “Just wanted to get out of the house, get the baby out of Zayn’s hair for a bit…”

Louis eyes him. “Have some grown-up talk?”

“Maybe,” Harry allows, stroking the baby’s back absentmindedly. “I mean, I sort of… the post-partum thing is harder than I thought.”

“Right. And they don't get it.”

By they, Harry knows he means their husbands. “No, they don't.”

“Liam mentioned you'd been going to, um.” Louis stops himself.

“Therapy?”

“That, right.”

Harry nods. “It's just been… I dunno. It's a lot.”

“It is,” Louis says, nodding.

“And I really wasn't prepared to feel like this,” Harry says. “Like my head ain't screwed on right, or something. Like I stepped sideways out of my body.”

Louis nods harder. “Fairly big event. ‘Specially if you nearly cark it in the process.”

Harry winces at this, but allows a little laugh. His abs still hurt. He runs his fingers over the marble counter, tracing the designs.

“I have this thought,” he says, “that I don't believe at all. But it sticks around in my head anyway.”

“What thought?”

Harry inhales, and in a fit of superstition, covers his son’s ears with his hands.

“That some higher power was punishing me for having an abortion twenty years ago,” he admits.

Louis laughs.

“Sorry,” he says. “It's not funny. It's just I used to think the opposite.”

Harry looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, like… That the universe was mad I kept Mia, that everything was my fault -- Zayn, Liam, all that, that I’d brought all that emotional turmoil on myself and I deserved it.” Louis bites at his lip. “That someone up there was saying, really firmly, like, you're too young and irresponsible to have had this baby, now suffer for it.”

Harry sits, stunned. “I never knew.”

“Yeah, I don't think we were exactly best mates at the time,” Louis says wryly.

Harry has a twinge of guilt for how he snubbed Louis back then. It just hurt too much to look at that little baby with Zayn’s dark hair and Louis’ eyes, it hurt to be so reminded of the distance both between him and Louis and him and Zayn.

“Anyway, I've been, I dunno. Not myself,” Harry says. “Bleedy and cranky and sort of mean to Zayn, I feel shitty about it.”

“It does a number on you, mate.”

“I had this idea in my head I'd go straight back to normal by, like, sheer force of will,” Harry admits. “Stupid, I know.”

“Not stupid,” Louis says. “Wishful thinking, yeah.”

“I sort of miss being pregnant, too…” Harry kisses the baby’s head. “Just being able to keep him safe… but I reckon I just traded one type of fear for another.”

“Parenting is hell,” Louis affirms.

Liam comes back in, then, making a noise of agreement at this, and points accusingly at the discarded napkin and half-eaten scone.

“Hi, love,” Louis coos apologetically.

Liam sits down next to Harry and gestures for the baby, who's happy to be lifted into his arms and blows a cheerful spit bubble. “I _told_ you they were hot.”

“I didn't know if you meant like, hot, or hot hot,” Louis says.

“The fuck is hot hot?” Liam says, sounding amused.

Louis flicks him on the arm. “Payno, after the kids came, was I sort of cranky and shitty and mean to you?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Noo,” he tries.

“You can say yeah, it's alright, I'm trying to reassure Harry.”

“Oh,” Liam says, shifting his arms to support Desmond’s head better. “In that case, yeah, but understandably. ‘Specially after Mims. _Mean to me_ is a bit strong, though.”

“Difficult,” Louis supplies.

“Challenging.” Liam smiles.

Harry takes a scone. “I asked Hailey the other day and she was like, oh, it was the most _beautiful_ experience, I just spent all this lovely time getting to know my baby, I'd love to go back to that, it was so nice, and I didn't know what to say. Honestly, a lot of the time I just want to go back to sleep.” He tears off a chunk and dips it in his tea. “No offense, sonny,” he addresses to Desmond, who blinks. Liam gently pinches one of his chubby cheeks.

“Doesn't last forever,” Louis says. “But she's full of shit, just so you know. Sounds like most of your friends are full of shit about this, actually.”

“Least I've got you,” Harry says to him with a little smile.

Louis winks at him. “You've got me.”

 

KENSINGTON, MARCH 30, 2039

“Zayn,” Harry calls softly as he walks through the house, lugging the baby carrier with sleeping Desmond inside one-handed.

He finds Cala in the kitchen with VR goggles. She takes them off and shushes him.

“Daddy’s asleep,” she says.

“Oh, is he?”

Harry gives Zayn a few hours, then worriedly heads upstairs, baby in his arms.

Zayn is face-down, loudly snoring. Harry gently rests Desmond on the bed next to him, then lays over top of him, pressed to his warm back. He delivers a kiss to Zayn’s spine through his shirt. There's a tattoo for him somewhere around there, next to his shoulder blade -- a very careful inking of Harry’s thumbprint.

“Hey,” Harry whispers in his ear.

Zayn stirs and says something unintelligible, then rolls over. “Oh, hey,” he croaks. His face has lines on it from the pillow.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, petting his hair. “You slept late. It's like, seven.”

“Shit, you're jokin’,” Zayn says, sitting bolt upright. The baby fusses at the disruption, and he reaches down and strokes his head.

“Nah, yeah," Harry says, "half seven."

“What's Cala doing?”

“Just VR shit.”

“Oh, I was gonna make her do her homework,” Zayn mutters, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.

"I took care of it."

"Ah, you're the best." Zayn lies back down, gazing at the baby, running his fingers over Desmond's tiny knuckles. Desmond coos and burbles. He's really such a happy little baby.

Harry lies down on the other side of him, so he's between them. He closes his eyes for a moment. He could drift off, himself, if he isn't careful.

"How was their place?" Zayn murmurs. 

Harry opens his eyes back up. It's dark in here, with a bit of moonlight and streetlight coming in through the window. Zayn's delicate features are sculpted by the shadows. 

"Good," he says. "Nice talk with Louis."

"Right," Zayn says, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. 

"You have any nightmares?"

Zayn shakes his head, slowly. "Just dreams... dreamed about music."

"Yeah? When're we gonna record together?"

"Whenever you like, love."

Harry cuddles up to him, head on his shoulder, and they gaze at the baby together. 

"We should write an album for the kids," he murmurs. "And never let anyone else hear it. Just write it and perform it and cut it, and it's theirs and no one else's."

"I like that idea," Zayn says, stroking his hair. "Then when we die and they've spent their whole inheritance on coke, they can sell it for millions."

"Stop!" he cries, genuinely upset by the prospect.

"I'm joking... Look, if anybody'd have turned out fucked up, it'd be Yas..." Zayn sounds a little woebegone. "And she's a good one, right? Works hard, keeps her nose clean. They'll be good kids, these two."

"They'd better be," Harry murmurs. 

Desmond is peacefully asleep, bathed in the soft evening light. His lips twitch up in a smile.

"Cute," he adds.

"Gas."

"I know, I know..."

But Zayn's smiling, too. "Still cute."


End file.
